


May I help you with that, sir?

by Mallorn



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10701033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: Director Krennic drags you into Tarkin's office for punishment, and the Grand Moff's idea of how to best deal with you proves to be quite stimulating for everyone involved.Shameless PWP with no redeeming values.





	May I help you with that, sir?

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a filthy little thing with Tarkin and Krennic, because I happened to think about them and then I couldn’t help myself. As usual.

You struggle against Krennic, but his grip around your neck is too strong. It honestly wasn’t your fault, just a stupid mistake! You didn’t mean to ruin his experiment! He is livid, his icy silence almost worse than how he started, spitting curses at you. Now, he’s dragging you to Grand Moff Tarkin’s office. Pleas and excuses spill from your lips in a constant flow that he pays no heed. He walks fast, cape billowing behind him.

“Please, sir, is this really necessary?”

“It is.”

“But I can make up for it, I can work extra hours, I…”

“Shut up.”

“But I’m sorry! I promise!”

“You have set back this part of the project with two weeks. There’s no way I won’t bring this to Tarkin’s attention!”

“Pleeease.”

He pushes the Grand Moff’s door open almost in a stride.

The stern man is behind his desk. Clearly startled by the intrusion, he half rises, then sits again, folding his hands in front of him. His lips are pursed, his gaze bores into you and continues to do so as he lifts an eyebrow.

“Director, to what unfortunate circumstance do I owe the questionable honour of this visit?”

“This stupid cunt has ruined everything I’ve worked for the last couple of weeks!”

Tarkin’s jaw twitches at the crude word and he drags his gaze to Krennic.

“Language, Director. So, you cannot handle your subordinates, and thus you have come to me for guidance?”

“Handle her yourself! I haven’t the time for this shit!” He lets go of your neck and pushes you forward. You stumble, and catch yourself against Tarkin’s desk. His gaze meets yours for a second – ice and… something that goes straight to your core. Heat pools between your thighs and you press them together, blushing. The Grand Moff stares at you, as if he could read your thoughts.

Then he lifts his chin and stares Krennic down.

“You will stay and observe, Director. Perchance you will learn something.”

You hear your supervisor shuffle behind you and you imagine him straightening at the Grand Moff’s command. You cannot take your eyes from Tarkin.

“Now you,” he says slowly after several long seconds, a menacing tone to his voice. “You should know better than to cross Director Krennic. Although not my most patient officer, he is an important asset and very dedicated to his work.”

“I… I agree, sir.”

“Very well. You seem teachable. Now, come here.” He pushes his chair back and pats his thighs.

You feel your face turn crimson. He cannot possible mean…

“Hurry up. Over my knees, just like that.”

You comply as if in a haze. The situation is just so unreal.

Tarkin’s hand landing on your bottom swiftly brings you back to reality. You jerk, but are too surprised to make any sound.

“This isn’t very satisfying, my dear,” Tarkin says and raises you up, one hand gripping your hair, the other your uniform jacket. “Will you pull down your trousers yourself, or do you prefer to give me the pleasure?”

“As you like, sir.” 

“Naturally.” He makes short business of it and soon you are back in your undignified position. His hand rests on your backside as if waiting for a command to begin.

You can’t help casting a glance at the Director, who is staring open-mouthed. He nods.

Tarkin’s hand lifts and lands again with a loud slap that leaves your flesh burning. He does it again and you cry out. A few more and the sting is nearly unbearable, and yet…

He rubs your cheeks gently between each slap, and now his fingers follow your crease down between your thighs. He edges his hand in and you open your legs slightly, aroused and at the same time ashamed of how wet he has made you.  A satisfied hum comes over his lips and he pets you, exploring with his fingertips. You shudder and – ah – his other hand comes down on your backside sharply. His fingers are inside you now, fucking you roughly at the same time as he lands a series of swift swats to your bottom. You cry out in pleasure and pain and suddenly your gaze falls on Krennic again. He licks his lips and you press your eyes shut.

“That should be enough,” you hear Tarkin announce coolly. He lifts his slick fingers to your mouth and you obey without thinking. He nods his approval. “Very good indeed.”

“Your turn, Director,” he continues. “Bend her over the desk and have your way with her. Show that you are capable of handling her.”

“Sir.” Krennic licks his lips again, eagerness warring with confusion.

You comply with Tarkin’s words even before Krennic can touch you. He presses you down with a hand between your shoulders, more for the sake of it than because of any need. He harshly parts your legs further, using his knee. The Director always had a flair for the dramatic. You arch your back and imagine him looking triumphant as he enters you. Then you stop thinking.

He pounds into you hard while you stare at Tarkin. The Grand Moff holds your gaze and the corners of his mouth lift the slightest amount when you begin to whimper from Krennic’s rough treatment. His left hand is on the desk, only inches from yours. The other is in his lap. He’s palming himself, watching you getting fucked by your superior. It’s humiliating and excruciatingly erotic.

Krennic comes with load dramatic moans, pounding into you until you beg him for release, but it is at Tarkin’s silently mouthed “Come” that you do.

“This matter appears settled then,” Tarkin announces when you are both standing at attention in front of him. “Director, are you happy? I trust this was adequate retribution for your inconvenience?”

“Thank you, sir. I am satisfied.” _For now._ You could practically hear the haughty bastard adding that in his thoughts. His smug grin gives him away.

“And you,” Tarkin continues is a mildly admonishing tone, “what do you have to say for yourself now that you have atoned for your sins in good measure?”

You stare pointedly at his crotch, then slowly lift your gaze to his face. You take a deep breath and then you say it.

“May I help you with that, sir?”

Tarkin freezes for a moment, then the corners of his mouth tug upwards again. He turns his head towards Krennic.

“Leave us, Director. It appears I am not quite finished with your assistant.”

Krennic’s salute is a little unsteady, but he turns on a heel and marches out with his dignity intact.

“Come here,” Tarkin whispers throatily. His stance is wider now, knees spread.

You swallow. Was it really wise to offer the Grand Moff more than he had taken already? It is too late now.

“Do… do you want my mouth, sir, or…?”

He stares at you with intent. “Do you presume to tell me that I need to choose?” His mouth is suddenly a thin line.

“Of course not, sir.”

He nods and you sink to your knees in front of him.

His cock is long and thin, like the rest of him. Like his fingers that hold your chin just a little too hard before he lets you start. Both of his hands go to your hair as soon as he slides between your lips, guiding your head this way and that. Finding the perfect angle. He wants to watch. He stares open-mouthed at how your lips close around him, how you lick the smooth underbelly of his cock, then suck the head into your mouth. You catch his dilated gaze, see how his tongue wets his lips. His breath hitches and he pulls you off of him.

“Sir?”

“You did nothing wrong, my dear. I simply need a moment to …calm myself.”

His fingers pinch the base of his cock and hold it. The proud length loses nothing of its eagerness, standing to excellent attention, if perhaps not at as a sharp an angle as on a younger man.

You sit back on your haunches, waiting, watching his legs, his shining boots. His right foot comes between your thighs and you watch, mesmerized, how it presses firmly against your centre. The toe scrapes against the fabric and you sigh from how good it feels. Up and down he wiggles his foot. You are incredibly turned on by this simple touch. It is filthy and debasing, yet feels so right.

“Could you come from this, I wonder?” Tarkin’s voice is crisp now, unemotional but with a hint of curiosity to it.

“If you command it, sir.” You do not hesitate to answer. It is true.

“An interesting thought. I will dwell upon it. Perhaps some other time.” He stretches his leg a little, just enough to put sufficient pressure on you to make you let out a long whine. He chuckles and grinds against you a bit more, then stops abruptly.

“Undress and sit on my desk.”

You wince at the hard surface against your sensitive rump, yet the material’s coolness isn’t entirely unpleasant. You lean back, supporting yourself on your arms. Tarkin stands between your legs and you get a sudden image in your head of him determining the height of his desk particularly with this activity in mind.

He lines himself up with your entrance. He holds your gaze as he teases you with the head until he has you whimpering with frustration. Then, he bows his neck and you both watch how he slides all the way in, then out. He fucks you with long, languid strokes. His mouth hangs open again, but not a sound comes over his lips. Only his heavy breathing and the high colour of his face tell of his excitement.

He begins to snap his hips more vigorously, the added intensity chasing your nearer your peak. He grips your thighs and pulls you towards him with each thrust, crashing the two of you together. He is much stronger than you thought possible. You are moaning helplessly now, and each push of his hips draws a small grunt from his mouth.

“Come,” he says, and you explode. He follows with a loud groan.

He tucks himself away and you dress in silence. You glance at the desk, where a slick spot mars the immaculate surface. One look at Tarkin confirms your thought. He wants you to clean it up. Your tongue laps it up in seconds. Approval is evident in his entire stance.

“We are finished for now,” he announces once you are done. “Henceforth, do not allow matters to escalate. You may approach me directly whenever need arises. Director Krennic is brilliant but volatile. I have need of the man and he should not be unnecessarily burdened with staff matters. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Good. Whatever you have heard about me, I am always prepared to provide _guidance_ to those who serve me well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
